A Drunk Night With Stupid Results
by yamiishot
Summary: Chris goes out one night and spots a a familiar figure trying to drown his sorrows and joins him. PreMansion, No Pairing. Rated M for language. Oneshot. R&R Perhaps?


-1Chris pushed open the door to Jack's bar, already intent on drowning himself in drink that night for the simple sake of ridding himself of the images of the mauled families from the cannibal murder cases.

The bar was filled with the stench of booze, smoke and sweat. Chris wrinkled his nose in disgust and walked past several tables of drunken patrons asleep or roaring loudly at nothing in particular, probably those fabled pink elephants.

Chris snorted derisively and headed towards the bar, taking a seat next to a slumped figure in black. A curious glance to the sleeping figure made the brunette lift a brown eyebrow and prod the person in the shoulder.

"Whuzzat?!" The person's head snapped upright, black sunglasses askew, hanging off one ear and the nose at an angle, revealing drunken ice blue eyes. The normally slicked back blonde hair was also a ruffled mess and there was a Guinness drink mat attached to his left cheek.

"Didn't expect to see you here Captain Wesker." Chris remarked, taking in Wesker's appearance, rather amused that he'd found his superior drunk. Wouldn't we all?

"Where m'I?" Wesker grunted, pulling off the glasses and sitting them, accidentally, in the dregs of his beer in his slightly dirty pint glass. He then peered closely at Chris before actually recognising him…somewhat.

"Ah, Fieldred! See you to good!" He grinned lopsidedly. Evidently he'd had a smidge too much to drink.

"Uh, Sir, it's Redfield, not Fieldred…" Chris frowned and removed the sunglasses from the pint glass. "Maybe you should stop for tonight, hmm?" he suggested, flicking the dregs of beer from the glasses and setting them down.

"Nonsense Greenfield, I fine feel." Wesker waved him off and ordered two more beers. Some drunken idiot put Blink 182 on via the duke box in the corner as Chris had to save himself from being covered in beer as Wesker slid said drink towards him.

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Many, Many, MANY drinks later

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The bar was closing, last rounds were being downed, and the last emo song had been played by the depressed underage drinker in the corner, and now Wesker and Chris were stumbling out the bar, arm in arm, bottle of bear in hand, and singing loudly to the tune of…something. Probably something to do with coconuts from the sound of it.

"Y'know, Riptor-"

"Redfield"

"That's I said what, Radar." Wesker grinned at a passing lamp post, giving it the two finger salute for giving him an odd look. " Got drunk, good, why you?" he slurred.

Chris, barely keeping one eye open, just shrugged and muttered a drunken choice of bad swear words.

Even drunk, Wesker managed to interpret it as women troubles. He was just that awesome. "S'Jill, innit?" He cocked an eyebrow, though it took almost a minute for his sloppy nerves to get the damn thing up. "Y'need..." he swallowed trying not to choke on his tongue. "Y'need ti forget 'bout it...her." The drunken blonde managed to correct himself.

"'Ow...'Ow do I do tha' sir?" Chris slurred, winking at a mailbox he could swear was grinning at him.

"Feck, forgot my glasses." Wesker cursed, running a hand through his hair. "What did you say Crisps?"

"How do I forget about Jill sir? I can't stop thinking about her...I mean...It's like...she's in my head." The STARS marksman whined, prodding his Captain's arm. "You don't seem to have woman problems Al, how'd you do it?"

"S'easy." 'Al' smirked lopsidedly, as if he was hiding a big secret. "I just ignore them."

The brunette stared at him as if he'd just realised that Wesker was a god. "Wow." he breathed. "That's amazing! Teach me!"

"All you have to do is refuse to look at her, Chips." "And you just...gotta be manly 'bout it." He paused in his drunken gait and stared at something across the silent road, staring intently as Redfield blundered on a pace or so and stumbled to a halt when Wesker's arm held him back.

"Manly?" he questioned. "But...but I am!" he complained. "I'm great with guns, I'm overprotective, and, and...and everything!" he ended lamely.

"Betcha don't have a tattoo Colin." He glanced at his sharpshooting team mate, eyebrow still raised. Evidently, the nerves hadn't told it to go down yet. That's booze for you. "Get a tattoo an she'll be all over you."

"But I thought you said-"

"I didn't say anything ." And with that, the two STARS members pushed open the door to Raccoon's only 24 hour Tattoo Parlour, the Jack Knife.

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A few hours later and the two STARS members walked out, wincing with each step. They parted ways and would not meet again until the next day

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Chris stumbled into the STARS office, wincing at the bright light of the uncovered bulbs dangling from the ceiling. His hangover was the worst he'd had in his entire life, and he could remember dick shit from last night aside from meeting a plastered Wesker and proceeding to join him in happy oblivion. No doubt his liver was busy putting a chokehold on the part of his brain that told him to do so, threatening to break it if it ever did something so stupid again. Another part of him vaguely wondered why Wesker had been that drunk in the first place but he didn't continue thinking it as another wave of pain hit him, realising it was Rebecca Chamber's voice.

"Chris, what happened? Why are you holding your head? Did you hit it? Want me to take a look?" She stood on tiptoe, trying to see.

He growled and pushed her to the side gently. "Hangover. Shh. Painkillers. Now." And for some reason he couldn't fathom, his arse cheek was stinging painfully as well. He hadn't had time to check it when he'd woken, already late when he'd glanced at the clock, Rebecca disappearing off to find the painkillers.

The marksman sunk into the chair at his desk, hissing in pain at the shock that went up his left butt cheek as it combined with the throb of his hangover headache from hell. "Fuck me." he muttered.

"Honestly Redfield, who would?" Barry's loud laugh almost blinded Chris with the wave of pain. It was far worse than Rebecca's voice had been. The big man frowned at the marksman as he winced. "Something wrong Chris?"

"He has a hangover." Rebecca floated into the room with a large glass of water and a packet of strong painkillers. "Do us a favour and don't OD Chris, we need you well." she giggled and hurried over to her own desk across the far side of the room.

As Chris swallowed two of the blessed pills, a pained groan came from the door and a very late Captain Albert Wesker shuffled into the room, clutching an ice pack to his head. Catching sight of the painkillers on Redfield's desk, he shuffled over, broke open two capsules and downed them with a gulp of the water.

"You look twice as worse as I feel." Chris commented lowly. Made sense, after all, Wesker had downed more than him before he'd arrived and after as well.

"You look bad Redfield. What happened to you? Jill get you for looking at her in the locker room?" Forest laughed, walking past the desk, causing Wesker to raise an eyebrow at the Alpha marksman.

Chris shook his head. "Found you drunk in Jack's bar last night. I mistakenly joined you in it. Now I have a headache from hell and for some unknown reason, my left ass cheek hurts. It feels like someone jabbed a needle into it a thousand times." Chris let his head drift down onto the table, resting on several old case files.

Wesker momentarily wondered if he'd attacked Redfield with the T-virus in a drunken rage, but he highly doubted it, since his own right arse cheek was paining him. Wesker was almost afraid of what could have happened with him and Redfield. Then again, since it was only one cheek that hurt for each of them, it was far more likely they'd had something disfiguring done.

Oh god...What if it was a tattoo?! Wesker's face suddenly paled. He'd always hated the idea of getting one, but could he have done it while drunk? "You gotta be shittin' me."

Chris lifted his head in time to see Wesker rush out the room, headache forgotten momentarily.

Several seconds later, an enraged roar echoed throughout the whole of the RPD building. Police officers stopped their work, frozen, horrified. Even the criminals stared about, fearful of meeting the man who made such a feral noise. Several officers, including Brad Vickers, dived under the nearest desks. Chief Irons paused in the middle of stuffing a dead raccoon, looked up, shrugged and went back to getting his hand out the raccoon's ass. Chris just flinched and covered his head, ducking down onto the table again. Whatever it was, it probably didn't concern him. Jill would probably bore him with the gossip later.

"**REDFIELD**!"

Or maybe it did concern him and it would be the marksman boring Jill with the gossip later.

Wesker stormed into the room, the door to the restrooms and vending machines almost hanging off one hinge. Wesker's hair was strewn over his red tinged face and he looked about read to explode in anger. He stomped over to Chris's desk, each step making both the brunette's and blonde's head throb, but both ignored it, as one was far too pissed off to notice and the other was busy wondering what the hell he'd done now.

"Sir?"

Wesker put both hands on Chris's desk and leaned in slowly, glasses sitting on top of his head so the marksman could get the full benefit of the furious glare. "Would you kindly tell me why I have a tattoo of your face on my ass?!" he hissed lowly, so no others heard, even if they were straining to hear (That would be Jill, Barry and Rebecca, all beside the door).

Chris's expression blanched. "What?" he asked stupidly.

"And I'm presuming you also have a tattoo on your arse since you were complaining of pain in that region. I would advise that you go and examine it before I get the urge to beat you into a pulp. Now."

Chris left the room faster than a drunken speeding bullet on a donkey could.

A horrified yelp echoed through the STARS office, not reaching nearly as far as Wesker's roar had, but it still made Brad wince and shiver under Enrico's desk, where he was still hiding. Enrico wasn't complaining, Brad made a good footstool, and he was also refusing to acknowledge the roaring and yelping.

The marksman appeared from the restrooms and tottled over to Wesker. "What the hell is your face doing on my ass?!" he yelled. The STARS office went very quiet, very fast. Wesker covered his face with his hand (not, not the one on Chris's ass, you twit!) and felt ready to kill Redfield then and there.

"Well Redfield, it would appear that when we got drunk we went to get tattoos for whatever ungodly reason you came up with, and for some reason unknown to me, you persuaded me to get your face on my ass and you for some reason got mine."

"My reason? Don't you go pinning this on me!"

"Don't patronise me Redfield!"

"Oh, so now you get my name right!"

"Redfield, I'm warning you - "

"Shut up ass face!" Chris prodded Wesker's chest, glowering.

"You can't exactly say much Redfield." A triumphant smirk from Wesker as Chris failed to say a comeback. If he didn't say anything in the next three seconds, Wesker would have won the argument.

Three...Nothing.

Two...Still nothing.

One -

"You're both ass faces, now shut up and get back to work!" Rebecca yelled from the doorway. "You're supposed to be setting an example! The both of you are twats!" She stormed off.

Chris stared after her, then caught sight of Jill. She just shook her head and turned away, stifling a laugh.

"Get back to work Redfield. Don't speak to me for the next three days if you expect to still have a face by the end of the week." and with that, Wesker turned on his heel and left the room, hoping that laser surgery was part of Umbrella's health plan, leaving a confused and angry marksman to go shoot some targets and get the worst shots he'd ever get in his life.


End file.
